


Break Me Like I'm Yours

by griners



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griners/pseuds/griners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all think the same- he's still a kid. (He forgets- people change).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me Like I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much my first try at davesc. I'm happy with it :)

They all think the same- he’s still a kid. The difference is that everyone remembers when _they_ were a kid, when they were the ones who didn’t quite know how anything worked and tagged along until they had the basics. David, he doesn’t remember being a kid (he grew up too soon, or pretended he did).

Cesc starts out quiet and gets increasingly loud as the weeks go by and David doesn’t speak to him, because he has better things to do and he wants to avoid the people he doesn’t like, for the sake of everyone. He’s talking to Puyol in a separate table about tactics and how they’ve always struggled against Italy and their game is coming up and they’re not doing anything different, and Puyol looks over at Cesc and shrugs, mumbles thoughtfully, “Maybe he’s our something different.”

David looks in the same direction, sees Cesc stuff his mouth full of scrambled eggs and laugh too loudly at something Iker said and Iker’s giving him this weird look like, _it wasn’t even that funny_ , and David scowls. “The kid? He can’t even tie his own shoelaces.”

Puyol smiles knowingly then, looks at him as if to say, _there was a time you couldn’t tie your shoelaces either_ , but it’s not even about fucking shoelaces and David grabs his plate, dumps it unceremoniously  on a far table, and doesn’t look up again because he knows Cesc is watching him.

.

Xavi has been telling him to be nicer lately, and David’s willing to give it a try, until he realizes that includes being polite to the people he hates and he sulks for the most part of that day.

They’re still on the national team and they have to dress up, do a photo shoot and stand there feigning interest in all the sponsors talk and the new shirts and advertise this and advertise that, and David’s not particularly looking forward to it, mostly because he has to smile and he hates smiling when he has no reason to.

It’s just him getting ready in the room, because everyone else already left and he’s trying to fry his brain with chit chat for as little time as possible, so he takes his time putting on his shoes, and straightening his pants, and tying and retying his tie. He hears a moan from behind a row of lockers then and frowns, squints his eyes a bit because he didn’t think anyone was there anymore. He takes a look behind the lockers and sure enough there’s Cesc, his hands angry as they slap at the tie and the shameful knot he’s got going on there, and David would laugh if he wasn’t so annoyed by him. “You need help with that?”

Cesc raises his eyes up to meet his, and there’s a delicate type of hope that Cesc is trying to cover up and does a miserable job at it, and it only irks David more. “We can’t keep them waiting,” David says harshly, like that wasn’t exactly what he was doing, and Cesc nods, and his eyes don’t shine so brightly anymore.

“Stand up,” David commands, and Cesc does, standing straight and looking down once or twice to see what David is doing. He looks around the room for the most part, tries to avoid David’s eyes because there’s nothing but a rough barrier there and Cesc doesn’t like not knowing what’s beneath it. It only takes David about two minutes before he gets Cesc’s tie right, and then he goes back to his own seat, shrugs his jacket on and heads for the door.

“What are you supposed to do in there?” Cesc blurts out of nowhere, and his eyes are wide and scared and David thinks again, s _uch a fucking kid_.

“Talk and try to act enthusiastic,” a pause, “You seem to be good at it,” he snaps, and looks at Cesc like’s he’s daring him to say anything back but knows he won’t.

There’s a silence, and David has half a mind to open the door when Cesc mutters, “I’m just trying to learn,” and his voice is slightly broken around the edges, and there’s disappointment and a hint of sadness there and it reminds David too much of something else (someone else, _him_ ), so he closes the door loudly on his way out and hopes the sound overpowers any remains of their conversation.

-

“You’re being an asshole,” Iker reminds him nonchalantly, and it takes all David has not to break the fucking fork in his hand. “He’s learning, man. Weren’t you like a lost puppy when you joined the team too?”

And David feels like saying, _no, I wasn’t, and I certainly wasn’t that fucking annoying,_ but he’s not in a mood to hear a lecture from Iker so he just nods, not quite sure what he’s nodding to, but Iker seems pleased so he keeps nodding anyway.

Cesc enters the room then, five cups of coffee in his hands, and he hands one to Iker, to Sergio, to Puyol, and he’s left with two. He looks uneasy, teeth biting and scraping at his bottom lip like he’s not so sure of what he’s about to do, but he extends one of the cups to David anyway, and David considers dumping it on the ground, or taking it and leaving it on the table, but Iker’s giving him a steady glare and besides he really, _really_ needs coffee right now. “Thanks.” he says tensely, and presses his lips into a thin line as if that was the alternative to a smile.

Cesc actually smiles a little, trying not to smile too much or talk too much or do too much, and he nods, says, “You’re welcome,” and moves to sit next to Xabi.

Iker grins proudly, ruffles David’s hair like he’s a dog or something and David slaps his hand away, _who do you think you are, my fucking owner, you gonna give me a treat now?,_ drinks his coffee like he’s doing it because he’s forced to when in reality, it tastes better than any coffee had tasted since they got there.

He catches Cesc’s eye when he’s finished with the cup, nods in an attempt to say _thank you_ , and Cesc smiles.

-

He doesn’t know what comes over him (he’ll file it away as love for the game, love for the one who gets you _that_ step closer to your goal), but Cesc scores and he finds himself with his face buried in his neck, and he pretends Cesc’s breathing is heavy because he ran all the way to the bleachers, and he pretends his heart is beating so wildly because Cesc got them to the finals and he could never be grateful enough.

He pulls back, and there’s this moment when he looks into his eyes and everything seems rushed and hurried and quick and flying by, and then it’s not, then it’s slow, and Cesc is looking at David like he’s just realized something important and the next second Puyol launches himself at Cesc and David walks away.

After the game, he dresses in a heartbeat, doesn’t go for drinks and stays in his room, staring at the ceiling and still trying to decipher what the fuck it was that he saw in Cesc’s eyes.

(He decides to ignore the knock on his bedroom door, the quiet, “David?”, because he’s tired and on a winning high and he doesn’t trust himself enough to open that door.)

-

It’s a hot Sunday morning in South Africa, and they have a game later in the afternoon, and David’s next to the benches, drinking his bottle of water and wondering whether or not he’ll start in the game when he notices Cesc running towards him, panting and smiling and so fucking happy that David scrunches up his face. Cesc stops a few feet from him, looking at the empty cart of water bottles and tilting his head like he could make one appear with his eyes. He hasn’t stopped panting and he licks his lips repeatedly, and David groans low in his throat, looks up to the sky and asks himself why the fuck it’s always him getting in these situations, and turns his head to Cesc, grunting loudly.

Cesc looks at him for the first time since he got there, and he seems a little lost and hopeful again and David hands him his bottle of water. “I’m not thirsty anymore.” He says abruptly, as if making sure Cesc knows he’s not doing this out of kindness, and he nods, but his eyes don’t leave David’s. “Here,” David says pointedly, and Cesc seems to snap out of it, grabs the bottle of water and mutters a _thank you_ , looking down.

David runs back to the pitch without a second look at him. Xavi is grinning in his direction and David mouths _fuck off_ , to which Xavi just laughs, and Iker starts laughing too because he just witnessed the whole scene, and David feels like this is going to be a long day.

-

“Hey man, do you have my charger?” Iker asks, sitting down next to Villa and the later raises an eyebrow. “The one you burrowed a few days ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, frowning. “Yeah, it’s still in my bag. Do you need it?”

Iker waves him off. “Just drop it in my room when you want.”

David doesn’t think much of it, and there’s nothing to think, but then he remembers they always put the youngsters in Iker’s room. And _fuck_ , he thinks, and bangs his head against the table.

Iker’s rooming with Cesc.

A few hours later, he grips the charger in his hand, knocks on the door to Iker’s room (Iker’s room, he tells himself, it’s just Iker’s room), and waits. A few seconds go by before he knocks again, and again, and no one answers, so he takes the liberty to open the door, grumbling tiredly about _always forgetting to lock the door_ under his breath, and throws the charger on the bed, before he halts to a stop. He can distinctly hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, and he figures, _might as well let him know_. He’s not planning on opening the door, just shouting something like _Hey cabrón, the charger’s here!_ , and so he heads for the bathroom, but then- then.

It’s low, quiet even, almost inaudible, but there’s moaning coming from the bathroom, strained and muffled by the water, but David freezes nonetheless. He winces at the thought of what Iker’s doing in there, shakes his head to get rid of the thought, and then there’s laughing from the end of the hall, and someone’s asking _hey, have you seen Villa_ , and David’s never recognized Iker’s voice so quickly.

He looks back and forward between the bathroom and the bedroom door and his eyes widen and the moaning gets louder and then it stops altogether and the water stops running and he bolts to the door, knocking into Iker on the way, a faint “Hey, David, where are you going?” echoing off the hall. David walks hurriedly back to his own room, shuts the door and throws himself into his bed, face down, groans loudly enough to be heard two floors up, and he fists his hands in his hair and pulls in an attempt to ignore the reaction his body had to the situation.

He turns on the shower.

-

David’s in the worse mood he’s ever been in during the next day. He doesn’t want to be alone, though, he makes sure there’s always noise and something to fill his ears around him because if there isn’t- then there’ll be silence, and the silence makes him hear other things, things he wasn’t even supposed to hear in the first place.

All fucking right, he fucking hears Cesc moaning.

He groans every time he does, tells himself that, _hey David, maybe you heard wrong, maybe, you know, he was just flushing the toilet._

The other part of him laughs, pants out, _what, you got hard from Cesc flushing the toilet?_

He wants to hit someone in the head with a brick.

When lunch time rolls around, he sits on a table with Iker, Xavi, Iniesta, Puyol and Sergio. Cesc sits on another table with Pique and Xabi and some other players David doesn’t even have the patience to name.

Sergio’s going on about his current girlfriend, some brunette with a nice face and even nicer body, and David picks up on bits of the conversation, but then he hears the word _shower_ and he has to stop listening immediately.

Iker gets up, goes over to Cesc’s table to tell him something, and David figures that much is normal, being roommates and all. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, not until he hears someone squeaking out a ‘WHAT?’ and Iker’s frowning at the panicked look on Cesc’s face, speaks slowly as if repeating himself, and David understands ‘Villa’ and ‘our bedroom’ and ‘left before I got there’, and he turns his eyes to Cesc in time to see his whole face turn as pale as a ghost, and then Cesc turns slightly in David’s direction, a look of dread spreading over him and David has to look away before the disgusting, shameful, embarrassing feeling pulling at his gut consumes him.

-

“Do you have feelings for Cesc?”

David snaps his head to the side, his eyes going wide and angry and then absolutely furious. “What!?”

Xavi raises an eyebrow. “I asked, how do you feel about Cesc? Think he’s good?”

David blinks, frowns, blinks again. “I, uhm...” he looks down at his plate, then to the door that leads to the hall, and gets up as fast as he can, heading for his room.

He doesn’t realize someone’s following him though, and he’s waiting for the elevator but the fucking thing isn’t getting there in another minute or so, and he decides to take the stairs but before he can do that, there’s a voice calling out to him.

“David?” Cesc asks, unsurely, and David lets his forehead rest against the door. _Well yeah Fabregas, this is David, who the fuck would it be?_

“Can I- I mean- uhm...” he stumbles over his own words and David doesn’t even look at him, feels a slight discomfort on the pit of his stomach because he can fucking guess what Cesc is trying to say. “You- the other day, we, I mean you, uhm-“

“I heard you masturbating,” David provides helpfully, and well, isn’t he such an angel, saving Cesc the trouble of saying those words out loud. His face resembles the one he had earlier with Iker, but he’s blushing furiously now, and David almost feels bad for the kid. Almost. “Keep it down next time, will you?”

He opens the door and starts going up the stairs but Cesc grabs his hand, and then pulls back immediately at the frown on David’s face, rubs the back of his neck, and the blush is still tinting his cheeks. “I’m, uhm, I’m sorry.”

David’s frown gets bigger, like _what the fuck are you apologizing for_ , but he just really wants to lock himself in his room and listen to blasting music right now, so he nods in recognition, and Cesc seems to relax a little. David keeps going up and Cesc returns to the room where everyone’s having breakfast, and David stops suddenly, hears someone asking “Cesc, are you ok?” and strains to hear his reply, “Yeah, just-yeah.” And David wonders why his voice sounds sadder than it had two minutes ago.

-

Iker’s grandmother dies. There’s no pretty way to put it or feel it even, it just- it happens. Iker reacts the way he always does, he gets a little quieter, smiles a little less, changes bits and pieces and there’s so _little_ change no one knows how to respond to it.

David can see Cesc’s struggle while they’re practicing, can see how he looks at Iker and wants to give him a hug, or say something that’ll relieve the pain, and Cesc is still young but he knows nothing he can do will work. He hasn’t known Iker for long, and they’re friends, but- but. He just wants to help.

They’re swapping the ball between them in the middle of the field and Iker’s sitting on the goal, leaning into one of the posts, and David eyes him carefully before going to sit next to him. Their words are low, hushed, and Iker listens for the most part, looks up too often (and David sees his eyes get moist when he does), and he bumps shoulders with Iker, lingers for a moment, and when he gets up, he pulls Iker along with him, and he manages a sincere smile.

They get back to the group, and no one mentions anything. It’s a silent agreement with them- if you didn’t see it, don’t ask, if you did, don’t mention it. Cesc is the only one who lets on, maybe because his walls aren’t built yet and he still _feels_ too much and he looks at David, and the older man looks at him too, and he sees something in Cesc’s eyes- something that hadn’t been there before. What was once fear turned into an overwhelming wave of respect, and David doesn’t know why, but he feels his throat tighten at the thought.

-

David doesn’t know why it’s always _him_. Iker gets dare and is forced to slap Sergio on the ass, and come the fuck on, it’s not like it’s the worst dare anyone’s ever come up with, and Sergio has a fucking nice ass, mind you. Silva is forced to admit he’s kissed a guy before, like no one knew _that_ had happened. But David, dear, sweet David, is, of course, compelled to choose dare when Xavi picks him, because Xavi knows the right questions to ask and David doesn’t want to break the _I’m-tough-be-scared-of-me thing_ he’s got going on.

Xavi has a shit eating grin on his face as he looks at David, and David thinks, _fuckfuckfuckfuck_.

“I dare you to kiss Cesc.”

Cesc yelps beside him, a terrified kind of yelp like he had no idea that was what would come out of Xavi’s mouth, even though everyone else in the room was already laughing when Xavi picked David. David groans, considers leaving the room but that would only make things worse and _awkward_ , so awkward, and David hates awkward.

Cesc is stiff as a rock as he sits next to him and David groans one more time, fists his hand in Cesc’s shirt and crushes their mouths together. He tastes good, like cinnamon and something spicy and some other cliché David’s mind can’t register because he’s too busy _kissing Cesc_. Cesc closes his eyes but he’s not relaxing, not at all. David curses inwardly, moves his hand to the back of Cesc’s neck, brushes his thumb behind his ear and Cesc slumps forward, shivers and holds onto David, and David’s licking into his mouth and giving everyone a show but he can’t even- he can’t stop. Cesc kisses him back and he seems greedy and David would be annoyed but fuck he’s even greedier, pushing closer to him and groaning against his lips and he’s getting far too into it and Cesc doesn’t look like he wants to stop either.

It’s not until David hears _Hey, I said kiss, not fuck!_ that he pulls back abruptly, eyes wide and lips swollen and heart hammering in his chest. Cesc is still leaning into him and David turns his head, licks his lips and glares at Xavi. “Happy?”

Xavi looks like he just won the lottery, shakes his head and Iker answers for him- “You have no idea.”

-

He can’t look Cesc in the eye for three days. They have a game and they win 5-0, with two goals from David and he can see in between the mass of bodies hugging him that Cesc stays back, clasping hands with his teammates but it’s like he can’t look at David.

He tells himself that he’s not disappointed, even though he is, thinks of the way Cesc’s lips felt against his own instead and shakes his head to get rid of the thought immediately.

Back in the locker rooms, David showers for longer than he usually does, rinses away the stress and the worry and everything else that’s been bothering him and he feels the water soothing him, the drops trickling over his body, his muscles not as tense as they had been. He grabs for a towel and wraps it around his waist, goes to his locker to pull out his clothes when he realizes he isn’t alone.

Cesc looks like he hasn’t even noticed David, and David looks away, determined not to say a word, and he drops his towel on the bench. He coughs to hide the smirk that’s faintly playing on his lips because he can see out of the corner of his eye how Cesc looked at him, how Cesc is _still_ looking at him, can see how his lips parted slightly and how he’s just staring and staring and David pretends he saw none of this.

Cesc pulls his boxers up way too quickly and he’s blushing again and David notices that too, and when he puts his own boxers on he can hear the faintest, _nice game_ , coming from Cesc, and he catches his eye.

There’s something burning there, and David thinks, _I’ve seen that before_. David thinks, _you’ve looked at me like that, before_.

He moves towards Cesc and he gives a surprised cry as he’s pushed back against the wall and David’s pressed against him, lips on his and Cesc can’t think of anything else to do but kiss him back. David gets his hand in Cesc’s hair and pulls hard enough to hurt, and Cesc moans urgently and thrusts his hips up without even realizing, and David just pushes him harder against the wall, mouth breaking free and eyes boring into his. He moves his lips to Cesc’s ear, bites down and pants- “You wanted to learn, right?”, and slowly grinds his hips against Cesc’s until he whimpers desperately, scratching his nails along David’s back.

David grinds their hips together again, and again, kisses Cesc to shut him up but he just groans into his mouth, hands touching and pushing and clinging onto David’s shoulders as David thrusts once, twice, and Cesc pulls his lips away from David and comes harder than he’s ever had in his life. David rakes his teeth across Cesc’s neck and comes with a groan, muffled against Cesc’s shoulder and that- that. That was.

“Fuck,” David grunts, and Cesc whimpers again.

-

He doesn’t notice it, at first. He’s never been through it (if he had, he’d have caught it in time to be fixed), and the distance and disappearances don’t worry him (maybe that was the problem). It’s only when they’re at practice, one day, that David suspects something.

Iker’s forming the teams and David got on Cesc’s team, along with Xabi and Sergio and Iniesta (and a few others, David doesn’t really remember). The point is, they’re warming up and shooting the ball into the goal before the game starts when Cesc goes over to Iker, says something and Iker listens closely, frowns, looks concerned for a moment there, and then squeezes Cesc shoulder and says ‘Ok’.

Two minutes later, Iker calls the other team up, tells them they’re working with Cesc. David feels his stomach drop.

That night, Cesc is heading for their table, and then their eyes lock- and Cesc stops, goes over to another table, sits and eats quietly until it’s time to go up to his room. And David thinks, _that’s fucking enough_.

He takes the elevator this time because it’s not a good idea to bang his feet on each stair angrily and besides, the wait will calm him. It takes exactly 47 seconds before he’s on the seventh floor and he barges into Cesc’s room, knowing full well Iker’s still downstairs and he wouldn’t have a single problem getting in. He locks the door, stares at Cesc until he removes his headphones and asks, furiously (the elevator ride didn’t quite help), “Why are you avoiding me?”

Cesc looks alarmed, surprised, and he stammers- “W-What?”

David breathes out harshly, walks over to his bed and stands next to it, all alfa and terrifying and angry and- “Don’t fucking- don’t play games with me. I’m gonna ask you one more time,” his eyes are cold, staring at Cesc and he doesn’t seem so surprised now. He seems like he’s bracing himself. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Cesc shakes his head, pushes his computer away and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He remains sited. “I- I have a girlfriend.”

A pause, David raises his eyebrow. “And?”

Cesc looks at him like he’s crazy, and he’s stumbling over his words again, “And I- I have a girlfriend! And I’m not- I’m just- not-“

“You seemed pretty gay to me, what with coming in your pants and all,” David scoffs, ignores the fact that Cesc wasn’t the only one who came in his pants (ignores the fact Cesc didn’t make the first move).

Cesc’s face changes. A building kind of anger spreads over his features and his eyes scrunch up and he stands, fists his hands and shouts, “You don’t have the fucking right to do this! Am I a toy now? You didn’t give two shits about me when I first joined and you almost fuck me against a wall and now you’re worried I’m avoiding you?”

 _He has a point_ , his brain mocks him. David looks like he wants to hit himself. “I never said you were a toy, _Fabregas_.”

And that, yeah. He meant for it to hurt- he wanted him to realize he didn’t feel anything, know anything, want anything. _Fabregas_. Like his last name was all he cared about.

(Like that was a blatant lie and Cesc didn’t know the truth.)

Cesc shoved him out and shut the door in his face, and nothing’s ever resonated so loudly in David’s ears.

-

Iker corners him the next day, when David is all straight back and tense shoulders and broken sentences, and he asks, _what the fuck did you do_ , because he wasn’t the only one like that.

David glances over Iker’s shoulder, and he catches Cesc’s eyes, for a second, before he looks away and David looks back at Iker. “What?”

“He hasn’t smiled once today.” Iker grunts, and David wonders if there’s a way he can shrink and escape. “He didn’t even say good morning to anyone. _Anyone_. And you were the last one to even get near him so you better fucking make things right or I’ll lock you both in a closet until you talk to each other.”

David caught maybe half of that. He was too busy staring as Cesc stabbed his fork in his plate mindlessly, and how it took him three times to finally pay attention to what Pique was trying to tell him. Iker moved in front of him then, blocking his view, and David looked up, said, seriously, “I’ll work it out.”

Iker gave him a furious glare, and David shook his head. “I swear. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”

He didn’t.

-

He didn’t talk to him again until 2006 (disappointment).

They talked, curt sentences like _you should have passed_ and _take the corner_. They talked, but they didn’t _talk_ , and everyone notices it, but they don’t say anything.

But, it’s 2006, and they’ve just played France, and- no. No, it’s before they play France. Before, before they step onto the pitch, before they even get to the locker rooms. Cesc has been down all day (he’s grown, he’s harder, darker, more composed (more like David)), and Pique’s talking to him, asking him if he’s nervous about the game. Cesc does something he hasn’t done in a while- he looks at David. And then he looks back at Pique, shakes his head, mutters a _no, I’m fine_ , and he walks forward and doesn’t listen to anyone else.

David takes a calming breath, fills his head with statistics and game plans and the starting eleven and- breathe in, breathe out. _Breathe in, breathe out._

They lose.

(Eliminated)

-

The room is quiet. The showers turn off, one by one, and people start leaving. There are about ten of them left, and David shuts his locker, puts on his shirt, starts working on his shoes.

He’s a ticking time bomb, calm and collected and just waiting for the first excuse to explode. Cesc gives him that excuse by stilling his movements, glancing at him and saying, “You played well.”

David tightens his hand around the edge of the bench (so hard his whole palm goes white). He locks his eyes with Cesc’s and snaps (harshly), “Why are you talking to me?”

“David,” Iker warns, his eyes dangerous. “Don’t start.”

 _Don’t start_ , and he knows what Iker means. _Don’t start blaming everyone and everything and don’t start being unfair and don’t start being **you** \- _but it’s not about that (it’s not).

Cesc is still looking at David like a lost little kid and David thinks maybe he hasn’t changed at all.

Iker looks at Pique and Pique nods, motions for Cesc and him to get going. Cesc shakes his head, stuffs his shoes and shorts in his bag, and says, “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” David replies and his tone is still hard and unforgiving and Cesc leaves the locker room before anyone realizes what they meant.

-

The flaw in their plan: they’re rooming together.

Cesc is under the covers by the time David gets to their room. His breathing is even and he’s not moving but- but David doesn’t buy it.

He’s too tense.

So he moves to the bathroom, vision blurry and limbs tired and dragging and hurting (they hurt- pain, that’s all he feels). He brushes his teeth and rinses out his hair and changes into shorts and slides down the wall with his face in his hands and he sits on the cold hard floor, thinking this is what he deserves.

( _It was his fault, it was all his fault, he was to blame, no one else, him, don’t start, you’re guilty, stop running._ )

He’s not crying but he’s shaking and he can’t stop and there are vivid flashes of green and blue on his eyelids- blue and white and happiness and torture- and green, and losing, and _eliminated_.

He thinks about Iker- about _fix it, talk to him, fix it_. He thinks about all the promises he made and couldn’t keep- he thinks about what kind of fucked up pattern that is.

He thinks about how he ends up finding himself hiding in a small bathroom in a small hotel room in a small village and- he thinks about how there’s noise behind the door, and then Cesc is in front of him. David raises his head and Cesc sits down next to him, quietly, and settles against the wall. His eyes are dark and unfocused and scared, and he asks, “Is it always going to be like this?”

David feels his blood flowing quicker and his pulse beating madly and their hands are almost touching on the floor, and he frowns and says, “Two years.”

Cesc looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re right,” and he laughs, hard and gruff and strained. Cesc smiles a little. “But yeah- two years.”

Cesc looks back at the wall and moves his hand until it touches David’s, and then- “A lot can happen in two years.”

And David smiles- and it’s the only smile anyone will get out of him for days. “Yes.”

“Promise me.”

And David doesn’t really know what he’s promising, but he knows. He knows. “I promise.”

And Cesc is relieved because, well. He loves, he wants, he craves. And it isn’t easier with a promise, but. It’s safer.

And David tilts his head and kisses him because Cesc is something good, and he could break him in a second. But he doesn’t want to.

(He promised.)

 


End file.
